


But Is It Art

by netlagd



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netlagd/pseuds/netlagd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>Brian encounters an unconventional artist at a convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Is It Art

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post Season 5 - ish  
> Warning: AU  
> Disclaimer: All characters and situations from _Queer As Folk_ are the property of Russell T. Davies, CowLip Productions, Tony Jonas Productions, Showtime Networks Inc. and others. No copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> Author’s Note: This was inspired by a video that I recently saw of Brian Olsen “Art in Action” (http://www.brianolsenart.com). I certainly don’t own Brian Olsen and no infringement on his talent is intended. But when I saw it, I said that that was the sort of thing Justin might do to make ends meet while he worked on a serious career.

_Sheep! They were all fucking sheep!_ Brian Kinney strode angrily across the trade show floor for AdAge’s Creativity Conference at New York’s Jacob Javets center. 

“Creativity, my ass,” he muttered. This was New York, for fuck’s sake. The Mecca of advertising. Agencies here were supposed to be edgy; their staff were supposed to be known for being able to think outside of the box, taking risks. What a load of bullshit. These people wouldn’t know an original idea if it bit them in the ass. He was surrounded by fucking sheep!

As if to confirm his thoughts, here, blocking the broad pathway through the convention floor, was a group of them, milling around, not going anywhere in particular. Brian could almost hear them bleat. And there, in the midst of the mass of two-legged sheep were Cynthia and Ted.

Brian pushed his way through the throng, forcing a path to open. He tapped Cynthia on her shoulder, gaining both hers and Ted’s attention. 

“Come on, we’re out of here.”

Without bothering to check that they were following him, Brian spun around and pushed out of the crowd to the convention floor exit.

“Brian! Wait!” Cynthia cried out as she and Ted hurried to catch up with their boss.

Brian turned, but made no move to retrace his steps. He waited for his errant employees to catch up to him.

“You’ve got to see this!” His normally controlled and a bit cynical executive assistant seemed to gush.

“Yeah, Brian, you have to see this,” Ted panted out as he caught up with the other two Kinnetic primaries. “This guy’s amazing!”

“Ted, Cynthia, I can’t believe you of all people are drawn into some shlocky trade show marketing hype.”

“You know, Brian,” Cynthia started, “I pretty much felt the same way until I saw this guy perform. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ted’s right. He really is amazing.”

“So is Kresken. That doesn’t mean I fall for that bullshit. So what is he? Some street magician? An animated robot? Oh! let me guess - a full size puppet!” Brian moved to exit the convention floor. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel. We can catch a decent meal and explore New York nightlife, hit a few clubs. Perhaps this trip won’t be a total waste. As owner of Babylon, I can write it off as a business expense - market research. Right Theodore? That should make you happy.”

“No.”

 _”No!?”_ Did Ted just really say ‘no’ to him?

“I mean yes, you can write it off. But no, I want to stay and see the next performance. It’s the last one of the day, and I’m not sure if he’ll be back tomorrow.”

Even as Ted spoke, a low whirring and buzz of bass started to fill the air surrounding the milling sheep. The noise level from the speakers rose and the crowd hushed. Synthesized white noise moved gradually into to a techno loop, intermittently interrupted by a thumpa-thumpa beat.

Brian’s ears perked up and he looked to Ted and Cynthia. Their eyes were transfixed on the black draped stage area where the curtain moved to reveal a large blank, black canvas and at least a dozen paint buckets. Intrigued, Brian moved closer to the stage. 

Over the looping beat, an announcer came on. “Ladies and Gentleman, SoHo Artists’ Booking is proud to present... Justin Taylor!”

A small blond in a smoke grey tee-shirt and tight jeans - which just happened to showcase an amazing ass - took the stage. The music level rose as a looped intro techno mix of Sarah McLaughlin’s Plenty filled the air. 

Justin scanned the audience for some interesting face to paint - he would have a little more than five minutes to commit the chosen subject to the canvas on the stage. His eyes swept the crowd, dismissing one anxious, hopeful face after another. He couldn’t waste time here, but shit! it was a sea of perfectly groomed but highly uninspiring faces. He’d about given up finding anyone of interest when his eyes met intent hazel ones. 

Finally, after a day of boring subjects, someone worth painting.

With a slight nod Justin indicated to the assistant slash security person to retrieve the chestnut-haired man and bring him up on the stage. All the while, Justin maintained eye contact with his subject.

Brian was transfixed by the performer’s blue eyes. It was the only explanation. Otherwise he’d never allow himself to be swept onto the stage in front of the sheep he despised. 

His subject now standing before him on the right hand side of the stage, Justin licked his lips as he retrieved several paint brushes from the floor in front of the canvas. As he began to paint as the looped base beat faded into thumping beat of the song.

_I looked into your eyes, they told me Plenty... I already knew..._

_Shit!_ Brian started to make a move to exit the stage, but Justin’s eyes held his, effectively stilling all movement. The message was clear - stay. 

Brian stood where he was. He watched as paint strokes began to outline his face on the canvas. Brian felt like those blue eyes were looking into the depths of his soul. This beautiful blond man did look like he knew him - more than he should. 

A self-satisfied smile on the lips of the artist as he filled in the details of Brian’s jawline, ears and nose, caused Brian to chuckle in defeat. Brian let a small smirk grace the corner of his lips and the two shared a silent laugh. Brian shook his head. When was the last time he felt this sense of exhilaration?

His interest now aroused, not to mention areas of his body as well, Brian let his gaze wander over the artist’s body which moved in time with the music as he filled the canvas. Damn! He had a great ass. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in dismissing what the convention had to offer. Brian made a mental note to send Cynthia and Theodore off to do the evening’s reconnaissance without him. His plans for the evening had just changed.

The fade of music and the clapping and shouts of the crowd, shook Brian from his thoughts. Paintbrushes in hand, the artiste turned and bowed to the crowd, a broad smile was plastered across his face. Tossing his brushes to the floor, Justin jogged across the stage and grabbing Brian’s hand, pulled him down the few steps to the backstage area. “Let’s get out of here!”

Backstage Justin pulled off his shirt revealing luminous white skin. He exchanged the paint splattered garment for a clean, plain white tee. He toed off his sneakers and sock, unbuttoned his jeans and dropped trou.

Brian’s right eyebrow shot up and Justin laughed as he pulled off his jeans. “Can’t let your Armani get all messed up with paint now, can I?”

Justin grabbed a pair of non-descript khaki cargos and pulled them on. But not before Brian got to see a fairly hefty package and that brilliant bubble butt encased in tidy-whiteys. Justin slid his feet into a well-worn pair of docksiders and looked around. He stuffed the paint splattered clothes and shoes into a plastic bag, then transferred it into a messenger bag which he slung over his shoulder. Crossing over to where Brian was watching the second performance of the afternoon, Justin raised up on his toes and pulled Brian’s head down for a kiss.

Brian, who’d been a bit off his game since being towed onto stage twenty minutes ago, quickly recovered, molding his body to that of the younger man. Letting his tongue travel along Justin’s lips, Brian thrust into warm depths of Justin’s mouth and let out a self-satisfied sigh.

Justin smiled at the sound and moaned happily in response... until the ringtones of Brian’s cell phone interrupted. Justin grumbled.

Unhappily and a bit frustrated, Brian wrenched himself away from the kiss, and edged away from Justin only enough to retrieve the phone from the pocket inside his suit jacket.

“Kinney. What?” 

Justin smiled. A man who didn’t suffer fools -- God! He didn’t know there were any left.

“No, Theodore, I won’t be joining you and Cynthia this evening. Run along now and have some fun. Just don’t spend all my money.” Without a goodbye, Brian snapped the phone shut and looked down into blue eyes. “Where were we?”

“About to get out of here.”

“Right. Not wishing to be cliche, but my place or yours.” 

Justin’s laugh ended in a moan, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Well, since I share an apartment with two other artists, I’d say we’re better off at your place.”

“Right.”

Justin grabbed Brian’s hand for the second time today. “By the way, I’m Justin Taylor.”

“Brian. Brian Kinney.”

Justin stopped and pecked a quick kiss onto Brian’s lips. “Nice to meet you Brian Kinney.” And with that introduction, he pulled Brian out onto the convention show floor and toward the exit.


End file.
